Page 25

They sat a moment in the quiet that had, over the past weeks, become familiar between them, the fire settling in the grate and two more cats dozing near enough to the warmth to singe their whiskers. Leonora had spent the better part of the morning arranging her hair a particular way, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and then pulling it forward again, and finding no fewer than four occasions to reach for the tea tray with her left hand extended rather further than strictly necessary. None of it had produced the slightest reaction. She was beginning to suspect she would have to announce the matter outright, which was precisely what she had been hoping to avoid, when Marian’s gaze finally dropped to her hand as she reached for her cup.

“Leonora!” Marian set down her own cup with a small clatter. “Is that a ring?”

“Oh.” Leonora looked down at her hand as though she had only just noticed it herself, turning it slightly so the sapphire caught the light from the window. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Give me your hand this instant.”

Leonora crossed the small distance between their chairs and knelt, offering her hand for inspection. Marian took it with both of hers, tilting it this way and that like she was appraising a piece for the Crown Jewels.

“It is beautiful,” Marian said. “When did this happen? Why did no one tell me? I have been begging Anthony to propose and he did not think to tell me that he has.”

“Anthony wished to surprise you, Your Grace.” The lie came out smoothly, and Leonora felt a small jolt of surprise at herself, at how naturally the words had arranged themselves in her mouth. “He said I had admired it once, in passing, and remembered.”

“Did he?” Marian’s voice had gone soft in a way Leonora had not heard from her before. “That boy...”

“He was very thoughtful about it.” Leonora made herself smile, made her voice warm, made every part of the performance land exactly where it needed to. “I confess I did not expect it of him.”

Leonora had always considered herself a poor liar and a worse actress, the sort of person who blurted out an unwelcome truth simply because the alternative felt too much like effort. Yet here she sat, inventing tenderness out of nothing at all, and doing it, by every appearance, rather well. She told herself it did not count as a proper lie. It was closer to a kindness, the sort one offered an old woman who wanted so very badly to believe her grandson capable of gentleness. That was not the same as dishonesty. She almost believed it.

“Nor did I, if I am honest, though I will deny saying so if you repeat it.” Marian released her hand at last, and Leonora returned to her chair, aware of an odd lightness in her chest that she chose not to think of. It was, she told herself, only relief. The scheme required Marian to believe it, and now Marian believed it, and that was the whole of the matter.

“You must ask him for more, you know,” Marian said, reaching for her tea again.

“More, Your Grace?”

“More. Jewels, gowns, whatever takes your fancy. He inherited a fortune large enough to embarrass half the ton, and he has no notion what to do with the greater part of it beyond business. You would be doing him a service, spending some of it.”

Leonora laughed. “I am quite content as I am.”

“Content.” Marian said the word as though it tasted faintly of vinegar. “My dear girl, a woman may be content and still ask for what she wants. The two are not opposites. When I married my Edmund, I asked him for whatever I liked, and he gave it to me without a murmur, whether it was a new mare or a string of pearls or simply an afternoon to myself with no duties. He was not often at home, his work took him away a great deal more than either of us wished, but I never once lacked for anything. Not a single thing. I do not intend for you to lack for anything either.”

Leonora smiled. “Well, that is very generous of you, Your Grace.”

“It is practical of me. A woman who does not ask ends up with nothing but what is left over, and I have never had much patience for leftovers.”

“I hardly think I shall want for anything, Your Grace. Truly, I have everything I require.”

“That is what every sensible young woman says right up until she sees a bonnet she cannot live without.” Marian waved a hand as though brushing the objection aside entirely. “You will learn. Ask for something small first, if the notion frightens you. A length of ribbon. A new pair of gloves. See how easily he agrees, and then ask for something larger the next time. It is a skill like any other. One improves with practice.”

Leonora brought her hand to her lips to conceal a smile. “I shall consider it,” she finally said.

“You will not, but I have said my piece and I am content to have said it.” Marian tilted her head, studying Leonora. “Tell me more about yourself, Leonora. It almost feels as if you only listen to me talk. Growing up, was there anything you wanted and never got?”

The question caught Leonora off guard, and she took a moment longer than she meant to before answering, turning it over. “There were small things, I suppose. Nothing very serious.” She smiled, remembering. “My sisters and I were raised rather strictly. A great many lessons. Piano, drawing, French, history. Our guardian believed idle hands led directly to ruin, so there was very little time left over for idleness.”

“That sounds dreadfully dull.”

“It might have been, if not for my sisters.” Leonora settled back into her chair, and found she wanted, rather badly, to tell this story properly. “Euphemia, my older sister was mad for novels. The romantic sort, the kind our guardian considered entirely unsuitable for a young lady’s mind, so of course Euphemia read nothing else if she could help it. She used to hide them under the floorboard in her room and read by candlelight long after she ought to have been asleep.”

“Interesting.” Marian’s eyes widened. “You did not tell on her?”

“Certainly not. I used to sit with her sometimes, under the back staircase where no one thought to look, and she would read to me while I drew. I was fonder of sketching than of novels. Faces, mostly, and the garden, and once a rather unflattering portrait of our guardian’s least favorite hat, which I am ashamed to say I was quite proud of.”

Marian laughed, delighted. “You were a disobedient child?”

“I had my moments. There was a tree at the edge of the property, an old oak, and Euphemia dared me to climb it one afternoon when we were meant to be practicing scales. I tore my dress on the way down and had to claim I had caught it on the garden gate, which no one believed for a moment, but no one could prove otherwise either.” Leonora shook her head, the memory warm even now. “It was a strict house in a great many ways. Cold, some days, in more than the ordinary sense. But I never once felt unhappy in it, because of my sisters. Whatever else was lacking, we had each other, and somehow that was always enough to turn even the dullest afternoon into something worth remembering.”

She paused, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Seraphina was the worst offender of the three of us, if I am honest, though she would deny it to her last breath. She had a talent for persuading the kitchen staff to save her the good end of whatever pudding was being made, simply by asking sweetly enough. Euphemia and I were always the ones caught with our hands in the jar. Seraphina never was. She had a way of looking perfectly innocent while the rest of us were still wiping crumbs from our mouths.”